


The Divine Chord

by Kissy



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angry Sex, Be Careful What You Wish For, Drugged Sex, F/M, Morristair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What price is one willing to pay to save all one holds dear?  My take on the 'Dark Promise' (selfish prat) ending, so it naturally is a Morristair...you have been duly warned. Rated for graphic sexuality, adult themes, sexual violence, and language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Divine Chord

_The Chord's chime...its call is irresistible._

Morrigan heard those words as her own heart intoned them, and suppressed a small shiver. Truer words were never spoken.

The cold gray walls of Arl Eamon's estate stood silent watch over their private, grim palaver, as they spoke of the end of all things. Morrigan stood before Elissa's fireplace, and tapped her teeth together in frustration. Alistair proved once again that he could be a stubborn git. She tired of trying to explain what she had proposed to them. Sighing, she said, "Once this child is created, the Old One's soul can be contained. The Taint will flow to the child at her conception, and the Old One's soul will be drawn to her instead of the Grey Warden that deals the killing blow. The babe would not die. The child's soul will be that of the Old God, so she will not precisely be of you and I, Alistair. There will be no need to claim her as your own."

A momentary flicker of perturbation crossed Alistair's features, and was gone as quickly as it came. He advanced on Morrigan, his menace and annoyance apparent. "I may not know a great deal about the Old Gods, Morrigan, but I do know a bit about familial resemblance. The child's soul may be that of the Archdemon, but physically he would be yours and mine. How would you explain it if he carries the stamp of your or, Maker forbid, my own features, then? Coincidence? Luck? 'Twould be easy to march up to the gates of the palace in ten years with what would obviously be my bastard son."

The corners of Morrigan's mouth turned down. "If you are implying that I will eventually use the child to stake claim on the throne of Ferelden, rest assured that it is not the case. You will never see this child, ever. I promise not to use her in that manner. In return, you must promise me that you will never seek her out."

"So that's it, then?" Alistair grimaced, and cocked his head to one side. "I'm just supposed to trust you...just like that? I'm not as stupid as you think I am, Morrigan."

The dark mage rolled her eyes dramatically. " _That_ is saying quite a bit, Alistair. Incidentally, how is it that you are certain this child will be male?"

"Why are you so certain he  _won't_  be, Morrigan?" he countered, his voice rising.

As she was wont to do in this situation (as Morrigan and Alistair bickered constantly), Elissa diffused the situation with a few gentle words and her mere touch. "You miss the forest for the trees, Beloved," said the Lady to her lover. She slid her palm across his stubbled chin, and he smiled wanly. When the fire of Alistair's anger was sufficiently banked, Elissa turned her attention to Morrigan. She dropped her gaze to her fidgeting hands, as she addressed the shape-shifter. "Morrigan...this argument about the child's gender," said she, "would this have anything to do with the book I gave you? Your mother's - Flemeth's - grimoire? Is the child's gender important in some way?"

Alistair flinched at his beloved's words. A momentary shadow flit across his frowning face, as if suddenly struck by the elementary answer to a difficult question. It disappeared as quickly as it came. When it passed, Morrigan let out her pent-up breath slowly, silently.  _Close_ , she thought.  _Damn you, woman._  That Grey Warden was too sharp for her own good. After silent, careful deliberation with herself, Morrigan did the only thing she could do in this situation. She lied. "Of course not. I wish an end to this Blight, as much as you do. This is the best path to take. Have we an accord?"

"I just don't  _want_ to," said Alistair, as he pulled a petulant face. "I'm pretty sure that _it_ won't work if I don't want it to." He motioned vaguely to his crotch, the tips of his ears pink. He took a deep breath. "We have an accord."

Morrigan crossed her arms across her chest and cupped her elbows, as she glowered at the two Grey Wardens.  "Stow the theatrics, Alistair. I'm as thrilled about this situation as you are."

"Miserable, are you?" Alistair mirrored Morrigan's body language as he glanced at the Lady Cousland. "I do this only because you asked me to." Alistair tutted under his breath and stared at the floor. After a few moments, he nodded to Elissa and reached out to take her hand. "Would that there was another choice, my love."

_Dimwit_ , Morrigan thought. Aloud, she said, "There is one other choice." She approached Alistair, stood a hairsbreadth from him, and leered. "Death."

Elissa grimaced. "There is no other choice, then." She turned to her lover. "Will you have me wait here or...would you have me there with you?"

It was evident to Morrigan that the Lady wanted nothing to do with this act, that the question was compulsory at best. Alistair shook his head violently. "Absolutely not. Stay here. This won't take long..." He glanced sidelong at Morrigan, and made an unconscious moue of disgust. "... _Will_ it, Morrigan."

"No," she said. Her lips stretched in a humorless grin at the Lady Cousland. "You'll have your failed Templar back in your arms in no time at all."

Elissa ignored Morrigan's heartless jab, and embraced Alistair. "I'll be with you...here," she said, as she placed her hand over his heart. "Be strong." He nodded, and bent his head to hers. They kissed, lingeringly.

"I think I'm going to vomit," said Morrigan to no one in particular. She strode to the bedchamber's door, and reached for the door-handle. When the door creaked ajar, Morrigan glanced invitingly over her shoulder at her paramour of the hour. "Relax, Grey Warden. I shall make sure this is a pleasant experience for you – for us  _both_. I doubt you'll hate this at all. You'll see." Alistair's face flamed scarlet, as he suddenly found his scuffling feet very interesting. Morrigan rolled her eyes, and jerked her chin at the empty boudoir. "Shall we?"

-=-=-=-=-=-

He stood by the fireplace, soaking up the heat that radiated from it. Despite the baking heat of the fire, his skin felt cold. He pulled his jerkin over his head, and the warm light of the fire limned the contours of his chest. "I can't believe I'm doing this," said Alistair, as he unlaced his fly and let his trousers slide to the floor. He kicked them aside with a small sound of annoyance. Alistair looked down at himself, and crimsoned when it was evident he could not come to attention.

Morrigan smirked at him. "Oh, how adorable...a third testicle."

A small tic jumped in Alistair's cheek. "Shut up. I want nothing to do with you." He crossed his arms over his bare chest, and jerked his chin at Morrigan. "And what are you waiting for, an invitation?"

Still fully dressed, Morrigan shrugged. "Relax. I'll take them off." She removed her own garments slowly, with care, and when it was obvious her painstaking striptease did nothing to titillate Ser Prudish-Pants, she sighed heavily.

Of all the possible scenarios that had gone through Morrigan's mind before she opened the chamber door, this was certainly not one of them. Every last boastful retort, every single acerbic jibe had fled from her mind, and she stood trembling in the cold, stone-walled chamber before the one man she would have never dreamed of bedding in a thousand years. Despite the loathing that coursed through her veins, she felt a fleeting sense of fear when she thought about the ritual – _could she indeed carry the Archdemon in her womb?_ She thought she could. With this terror came a wholly unexpected and almost delicious lick of desire. Morrigan wanted to perform the rite, and not just to experience the thrill of her mother's forbidden magic. To complete the ritual, she would lay with a man that loathed her. That loathing, unbeknownst to him, would feed the arcane magic that fueled the rite. It was a challenge...and more. She wanted a taste of-in the normal course of things-something she would never have nor want. Tiny twists of heat raced up Morrigan's spine. She did not expect this reaction from her traitorous body, and was uncertain how this evening would warp her own resolve. Oh, but she was certain about Alistair's reaction to being alone and naked before her, and he did not prove her wrong.

Alistair stared at the far wall, quaking, not wanting to make eye contact with the witch but helpless against his own ague. He was acutely aware of the skyclad woman before him, almost as painfully aware as he was of his own nakedness. He cleared his throat. "What now?"

" _Hunh_ ," she scoffed, "I thought that was rudimentary knowledge, considering your dalliance with your dear Grey Lady."

He rolled his eyes shut. He turned his countenance towards Morrigan, and gave her a withering glare. "Enough. Please, enough. It's bad enough that we are forced to go through with this. Don't make this any more difficult." He motioned to his crotch with his hands. His member lay flaccid, contradicting his trembling hands and flushed skin. "I'm having a hard enough time as it is."

" _Tch_. I can't imagine why," said Morrigan, her voice icy. "Afraid that you're going to hurt me with your massive member?"

He raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Right, right...sarcasm. Don't let my present state fool you. Even Trojan horses look minuscule next to a bottomless sinkhole."

Morrigan let the half-hearted jibe pass. She was sure she could help him past this minor bump, as she was privy to a great deal of knowledge. It was part and parcel to everything that she was. She knew many secrets of the human body, due to the myriad tomes she devoured throughout her life. As a child, she was instrumental to her mother's conquests, as the witch used her own daughter to lure men to her Lair. As the years flowed past, she spoke little and listened much. She heard many stories, some lurid, from her own mother's mouth. Mostly, she dallied with many different men in her time. She knew what would make this situation come to a head quickly...in a manner of speaking. She nodded to the bed. "Lie down," Morrigan said in a voice that held the tiniest quiver. "Just lie down, and let me gather my thoughts."

He did as he was told.  _Wonders never cease_ , thought Morrigan, as she sat at the foot of the bed beside his legs. After a moment's thought, she bent over and procured a small phial from the haphazard pile of her clothes. She swirled its contents before her eyes, and nodded once. The pearlescent, viscous fluid threw off a myriad of hues in the light of the fireplace. Alistair frowned at the phial, then at the witch, as she climbed onto the bed between his calves. "What is that?" he said with a worried twist of his lips.

"This?" Morrigan tipped the stoppered bottle to Alistair, then to herself. "This will help us tonight." She stroked Alistair with the glass phial, and he gasped when the cold glass slid across his sensitive skin.

" _Maker_...! H-How so?" Morrigan popped the cork from the tiny glass bottle as she ran her fingers down his length.

"I own the forge, and you have brought me raw ore. Any smith worthy of her anvil and hammer can make weapons of wanton destruction, but it takes a master to create something truly magical. It's obvious you cannot make iron on your own, no matter how hot I make the forge...or how hard I pump the bellows."

The man that lay beneath her raised his eyebrows. His mouth stretched in a humorless grin. "Rub it in, why don't you." He motioned uneasily with his head to the bottle. "So what you're saying is that stuff will give me a...erm, a cockstand?" He flushed as the words escaped his lips.

"No," said Morrigan. "But it will help you feel...better, about all this. This tincture will take your mind off your inability to come to attention. That in itself will go a long way toward helping you to relax."

He shook his head. "Oh, no you  _don't_. I won't drink anything you've concocted. What proof do I have that you aren't feeding me poison?"

"Nimrod. This is for us _both_." She raised the glass phial to her lips. "Half for me first, then the other half for you. I wouldn't willingly ingest poison. I'm not exactly immortal, Alistair...or stupid." She tipped the phial over her mouth, and three drops of the pearly liquid shimmered on her tongue. As Morrigan made it clear that she did not wish to kill him (not yet, anyway), Alistair nodded in acquiescence. She tilted the bottle over his mouth. Three more drops fell from the tiny bottle. He let the tincture slide down his throat, and a small wave of nausea made his stomach churn and his head spin. The kaleidoscope colors that radiated from the bottle belied the horrid, sickly-sweet taste of the stuff. He coughed once, gagging. When the ill feeling passed, he shuddered in its wake.

_Patience, girl,_  Morrigan thought to herself.  _Give the laudanum a few minutes to work._ She blew out the candle that burned fitfully on the nightstand, ran the back of her fingers across Alistair's cheek, and delicately traced them down his body to his navel.

He jumped, gasping, before he gave Morrigan an embarrassed, apologetic half-grin.  "Sorry...I'm ticklish," he said. Morrigan shook her head derisively as she crawled between his knees, suddenly mesmerized by the firelight as it danced on Alistair's bare chest and angled jaw. She caught herself trying to grin back, and mentally slapped herself upside the head for it. The hateful tincture worked with hellish speed on her faculties, causing her grip on the situation to slip.  _Too strong,_ she thought. _You made the tincture too strong. Careful, girl_. Her inner monologue chided her in her mother's voice. When it did, she attended to it closely despite her hatred for the old bat. She centered herself again to focus on the task at hand.

Morrigan touched Alistair's belly again, further south. His entire body thrummed like a live wire. The loathing that had coursed through Alistair had begun to wane, making him shiver with want. Morrigan pressed her lips together. _Not good,_ she thought.  _The laudanum is taking hold faster than it's supposed to. Don't lose control, Morrigan..._

She slid her hand over his manhood, and something else jumped under her ministrations. Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned forward on her forearms and drew her tongue over his belly, his thigh,  _him_. His skin tasted of campfires and musk and the salty tang of his own sweat and of blood-trace. Had she encountered these sensations separately, she could have combated the stir they produced, but the four sensations in concert caused the twist of heat that had begun in her backbone to race through her body. Being the steadfast girl she was, she damped that fire and went to work.

Morrigan drew her lips over his length, and marveled at how difficult it was to wake him despite her gentle, calculated movements. His traitorous hips rolled, as if begging her to complete the act. Not one to acquiesce to anyone's desires, she continued to stroke his sensitive skin with her mouth. He twitched under her succor once, and again. "Stubborn one," Morrigan said against his skin. Her teeth closed around the tip, and he could feel the points of her canines against him. Alistair gasped once, harshly, before his head began to spin from the delicate balance of pain and pleasure. A groan, not much more than a susurrus of air, escaped from Alistair's mouth as his head rocked to his shoulder. He fought to regain some of his composure.

Out of the corner of his eye, he stared at Morrigan. "Stop... _tormenting_ me. I want this to be over with as soon as possible."

"On this, we are in accord," said Morrigan – even though the words tasted like a lie – and took him fully into her mouth. She gazed up at him to gauge his reaction, and felt her lips try to curl into a smile. Oh, but this was new to the failure as well. Perhaps Elissa needed some instruction, herself. His face was slack-jawed and his eyes were wide with disbelief. Alistair made a small noise of lust in his throat. He grew in her, until she thought she would choke from it. He gently bucked his hips in time with Morrigan's movements. One of Alistair's hands found Morrigan's hair, and twined there. When she was satisfied that he would not wilt the moment she withdrew – and when she was sure that the moron wouldn't queer the pitch and ejaculate in her eye – she released his cock, disengaged his hand from the bird's nest her hair had become, and lay next to him.

Alistair rose to one forearm, and leaned toward Morrigan. Unsure of himself despite his obvious want to finish this act, he hesitated. As if Alistair spoke aloud, Morrigan nodded once. "You have my permission to touch me." He returned her nod, and drew her body over his. Morrigan let him. She straddled Alistair's hips, and was mortified when she found her body was more than ready to allow him entrance.

She gazed down at Alistair's face, and savored her satisfaction when he sneered at her. "Just do it, already," he whispered soggily. The drug had finally taken a secure hold of his faculties. Despite her own insistence that she wanted little to do with this, she found with a small pang of disgust that part of her wanted - no, nearly _pleaded_ \- for this perversion to begin. She lowered herself onto Alistair, and gasped once. That small twist of heat intensified; again, she squashed it resolutely. Morrigan drew arcane energy to herself, and began the ritual that was key in binding the Archdemon's soul. She sensed rather than physically felt the energies pool in the pit of her belly. At the precise moment of his climax, she would let loose the pent-up energy and release the spell. Then, the Archdemon would be sealed...but it had to be precise. Morrigan knew that it would take up to a week to complete the preparation for their final confrontation. She also knew that the child would not exist for at least a few days after Alistair gave his seed. She was privy to the secrets of the female form, after all. Morrigan calculated that by the time they were ready to take on the Old One, the child would have found her womb and rooted there.

Morrigan gasped again, her head lolling. Oh, there was power of the Maker in this rite. And wasn't the art of creation a gift from the realms of divinity? Truth be told, she felt much like a godling herself. She shook her head roughly. Her thoughts had become hazy, muddled. She centered herself again, and desperately fought to focus herself. So, she rode him slowly at first, then building in intensity until Alistair (and Morrigan, truth be told) looked nearly apoplectic. Alistair's traitorous hands rose – nearly on their own volition – and caressed Morrigan's bottom, her breasts, her hair. She let him, and not just because it would speed matters along if she didn't thwart him at every turn. She could feel the unimaginable happening. She had begun to enjoy it, herself. She watched him carefully, now. He was close to his finish.

Since Morrigan climbed atop him, Alistair kept his eyes shut tight. His mouth hung agape as he drew in air and chuffed it out. Sweat poured down his bare chest and face in rivulets. Now, past his disgust of his partner, he took obvious pleasure in their act. Once, and again, Alistair whispered something unintelligible. His body heat spiked, and the word he had whispered became clear. To Morrigan's utter delight, the name Alistair now moaned over and over was that of his dearest Elissa. In the world-pool of her own mind, she cackled even as she felt her own climax begin.

_Go on,_ thought Morrigan,  _go on, open your double-cursed eyes, fool! Go on and behold who has you in thrall now! Call out to your heart's blood, whilst I ride you to your little death. Behold me!_

__As if from some malign magic trick, her inner monologue seemed to reach Alistair as he felt his end near. He opened his eyes to behold his lover. His eyes, hazy with pleasure and opiate, sharpened. His mouth dropped open in horror. He made a hurt, low sound deep in his chest. His own spiraling sensations were forgotten, as Alistair tightened his grip on Morrigan's thighs and watched as she took pleasure in his pain.

"Surprise... _darling_ ," said Morrigan sarcastically. She reveled in his revulsion, reveled in her own little death as an intense but almost joyless orgasm tore through her body. She cackled as the spasms ebbed and flowed, plateaued and shot heavenward once again. She never stopped riding him for one second. She would not allow her partner to renege on his end of the bargain and refuse her his seed. Another sound emanated from Alistair's chest. What emerged from his whitened lips were not a hurt whimper, but an enraged rumble. He ran his hands up Morrigan's arms, and clamped down hard. Morrigan cawed out in pain, as Alistair flipped her effortlessly onto her back and surged to his knees between her own.

"You  _harridan_!" Alistair said through grated teeth. "Damn you to  _hell_!"

Morrigan put up both hands in a warding-off gesture, and Alistair grabbed both deftly from the air and pinned them against her pillow. He covered her body with his own, crushing her to the mattress. She laughed derisively in his face. "Damn me? Come what may, you agreed to this! And just why did you not think I would take pleasure from this?"

Alistair had withdrawn himself from Morrigan. He hovered on the edge of reason...and then thrust himself into her again, not caring one whit for her comfort or her well being or whether he would crush her with the intensity of this loathsome act. He ground her pelvis with his pubic bone, and when she cried out - from pleasure or pain, he would never know - he felt his head begin to spin drunkenly again. "Maker strike you down, you hag. You'll mock me no more. If you left well enough alone, I would be done here. It was much easier pretending you were Elissa," he said through the fog that had gathered in his head.

For some odd reason, this hurt Morrigan more than his simple, hateful jibes. Her odd yellow eyes flashed in the gloom. One of Morrigan's hands slipped from his iron grip, to whip across his sweat-lathered jaw. Alistair's head rocked to his shoulder. He growled at Morrigan, then his head darted down arrow-fast. His teeth latched onto her shoulder and he bit down, hard. Morrigan screeched as her hot blood squirted out from between Alistair's savagely bared teeth. In the scant moment between lashing out at Alistair and plundering from him, a single sharp image floated up from Morrigan's murky, laudanum-fuzzy memories; she suddenly remembered – of all things – dandelions.

-=-=-=-=-=-

_There was a time when Morrigan felt loved, whether she was or not. She was small then, so very small. In that one single crazed moment, Morrigan remembered the time she first helped her mother harvest dandelions. It wasn't always dandelions that Flemeth needed Morrigan to gather when she was small, but the first bumper crop of summer had sprouted, seemingly overnight. It was always dandelions or elfroot or fallen hazelwood branches, because Morrigan was still too young to wield a knife sharp enough to cull the wormwood and various herbs and fungi Flemeth needed almost on a daily basis. They didn't need to go far. The tiny copse behind the hut was home to what seemed like a trillion dandelions in high summer, despite the dim light and damp conditions. Morrigan bounded through the hummocks and skipped over the bog's sinkholes (Morrigan instinctively knew when to hop over the soupy, nearly invisible water-filled holes), tearing double handfuls of dandelions out of the ground as she went. She skipped to her mother, and deposited her slightly wilted handful of flowers into the big wicker basket at Flemeth's hip._

_"Want more dandy-lines, Mama?" Flemeth glanced into the basket, and shook her head._

_"That's more than enough, Morrigan," she said. "We ought to leave some to go to seed, otherwise there will be none to pick come next time."_

_The child reached into the basket, and touched one of the dandelion's graying heads. "Like this one?"_

_"Yes. Those tufts carry the seeds on the wind, and new dandelions sprout where they land." She plucked the gone-to-seed dandelion from the basket, and blew on the fluffy gray head. Hundreds of pods disengaged from the flower-head and flew on the wind._

_Morrigan laughed delightedly as this, and clapped. "Is that where baby flowers come from?"_

_Flemeth shrugged. "I suppose they do."_

_"Mama?"_

_"Yes, Morrigan?"_

_"Where did I come from?"_

_Flemeth bit back that old chestnut about the good Fade Spirits and dreaming about babies and all that rot. She was a practical soul...'twas the same practicality that her own daughter would, in the fullness of time, possess. "You came from my body, Morrigan. I helped create you."_

_"How?"_

_Flemeth nodded to the denuded dandelion. "Like this. A man carries seeds within himself. He sows those seeds in a woman when she is ripe. If the harmonies are just so, a child comes from it."_

_Morrigan's fine, wispy eyebrows drew together. "Harmony...like music?"_

_"Well...something like that. I really meant a special vibration." Flemeth found a dry hummock and sat herself on the loam, and her daughter followed suit. "Everything on Thedas has its own wavelength – a vibration of sorts. It is unique in and of itself, but it is of Nature, and has a mind of its own. It can harmonize with other vibrations, or become discordant. This is why you may find yourself drawn to some things, and repelled by others."_

_"Like lodestones?" Morrigan loved when her mother instructed her. She found that her love of learning the arcane was almost as keen as her desire to be closer to her mother...to be_ loved _by her mother. "One side pulls, the other side pushes away – like that?"_

_Flemeth glanced sidelong at Morrigan. "Yes, just so. Everything in our world is here for many reasons, but the one reason that makes the most sense to me is the never-ending search for harmony. It seems that every living thing spends its entire life searching for the reason to its existence._

_"You may find that, while you may be repelled by something, you might be subjected to a vibration-like everything else on this world-that bids you come closer. This is the core of creation." Flemeth reached into the basket and retrieved a peeled apple from its depths. She cut it into wedges, and offered a piece to her daughter. "All things on Thedas vibrate as one, but we are tiny. We can hear individual notes in its song, but we cannot hear this world's true harmony...not unless we attend with great vigilance. Do you understand this, girl?"_

_Morrigan ate her apple-slice in silence, absorbing her mother's instruction. Flemeth waited patiently for Morrigan's response. Finally, Morrigan spat an appleseed into the bog. She glanced at her mother, blinking. "No," she said ultimately. Had Morrigan said otherwise, Flemeth might very well have swatted the child for fibbing. When she made the apple disappear, Morrigan snatched a dandelion from the basket, as yellow as her mother's eyes – as her own eyes. She climbed into her mother's lap, and held the flower under Flemeth's chin. "Will I_ ever  _understand it?"_

_"Perhaps, perhaps not," her mother responded nonchalantly. She pursed her lips in thought. "Most people shall never understand the meaning of existence. Perhaps you_ were _right. Maybe it_ is  _more like music, Morrigan. They say that the creation of new life puts us one step closer to the Maker. When two notes combine to create a third in the dissonance of Chaos, the new note in the song is what some call the Divine Chord."_

_Morrigan smiled. She liked the sound of that name. "Can we hear the Divine Chord, Mama?"_

_Flemeth nodded. "Yes. Although at the time of its sounding, we may not be paying enough attention to it to recognize it for what it truly is."_

_"I'll pay attention, Mama...promise." Morrigan dropped the dandelion into the basket, where it found anonymity among its yellow brothers and sisters._

__-=-=-=-=-=-

And here it was.

The chord sounded in the discordance of their hatred, and Morrigan listened. She gasped once, and her frowning, rosebud mouth shook with newly-found knowledge. She opened her disconcerting eyes wide, and beheld the man that moved with her and within her.

In Alistair's own dark eyes was the knowledge that Morrigan had thought she kept carefully concealed...the knowledge that was a hairsbreadth away from his understanding not one half hour ago. And within that knowledge chimed a warning – _continue this, don't stop,_ never  _stop_ – for this, this act of divinity, was their only salvation...but that wasn't all. From within the warning, truth and understanding crashed into Alistair full force. Alistair thought back, once again, to the moment when Elissa found Flemeth's grimoire. His Grey Maiden showed him the ancient tome, just before she gave it to Morrigan. The words contained therein were so much gibberish to him, then...but now, he knew – Maker's Breath, he  _knew!_ – what those words meant now. The true nature of this act became hellishly clear to Alistair then and through this understanding, the reason for Morrigan's own existence came to him. He smiled once, savagely.

Alistair ceased his movements, lowered himself to his elbows, and bellowed laughter in Morrigan's face. " _Got_ you!" he said, panting. "You would allow me to think you did this to create a bargaining chip, or that you did this for the greater good, to save us from certain death. I know now! You think to take on the Old One's vessel, when your body is used up! You want to become a  _god_! You've been thwarted, you monster!"

Morrigan sneered derisively. "Thwarted...how? Would you stop this now, and face certain doom? Would you write your own death warrant – or _Elissa's_ – armed with this knowledge?"

He shook his head, still chuffing out-of-breath laughter. "No. But would you risk taking over the body of this child, while I know of it? Would you risk being exposed by me?"

Morrigan blinked at this. "We are at an impasse, it seems," she said.

"I don't think so," said Alistair. He pursed his lips in thought. "I won't go back on my promise, so you can seal the Old One with the babe. I'll never pursue my child or expose you for the scheming bitch that you are, and you'll never use the child to gain power or immortality. Do we have an accord?" He shook her roughly by the shoulders when she did not immediately answer.  _"Do we have an accord?"_

_You_ will _forget, you fool_ , thought Morrigan.  _Time will pass...this found knowledge will run from you, and you_ will _forget. And then I shall have what I desire._

Aloud, she said, "We have an accord."

The chord chimed again, more insistently. In it, they heard truth.  _Finish this. Do what you must, but finish this. Will or nil, this must come to pass...so why not enjoy it?_

"I have your word?" He pushed his face close to hers. "Tell me."

Morrigan nodded slowly. "You do."

"Then, let's finish this," said Alistair. He closed his eyes. "We won't take what happens here outside these four walls, will we?"

"No. For that," said Morrigan, "you can be certain."

"Good." Alistair slid his forearms under her shoulders, and pressed his cheek against hers. He laced his fingers behind her head, and Morrigan felt heat build in the pit of her stomach. He rolled his hips, and slipped into her again. Alistair sighed once, and the sound was like November wind through dead grass. He swallowed once, heavily, and his lips brushed against Morrigan's ear. He could feel her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her throat – so much like his own – and found that in giving her pleasure, it spurred him closer to his end. Morrigan's head spun deliciously. Her traitorous arms wrapped around his heaving shoulders. Alistair began to rock rhythmically, their thumping hearts keeping time. For the first time since their tryst began, Alistair locked eyes with Morrigan, and gathered her close. She inhaled Alistair's breath, and in it she tasted real desire...not the lust-facsimile that most men hid behind when they wanted to rut. She ran her mouth across his jaw, and her lips tingled when his sweat dripped onto her upturned face. Morrigan's eyes hazed as she ran her tongue across her lips, her shoulders trembling. In return, her motion made fireworks explode in Alistair's head.

In the discordance of their hatred, they found accord...from the dissonance, harmony. And from that harmony the Chord rang again. Such sweet music it made. The end came soon after.

"Morrigan?" Alistair panted. "Grant me one request, please."

Morrigan could not speak. She nodded her agreement.

"Be good to him," said Alistair, as he found his finish.

Lost in the sound of the music their bodies made, Morrigan released the spell.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Afterwards, Alistair exited the boudoir to its adjoining sitting room.

Elissa rose, and crossed the room to her beloved. He beheld her for what felt like forever before he dropped his head, exhausted, on her shoulder. She brought her slight arms up, and wrapped them 'round Alistair's neck. In this fashion did she hold him close.

Morrigan left the bedroom a few minutes after Alistair and his Lady were reunited. She glanced at the couple wordlessly, for many moments, before she sat herself in a Spartan, straight-backed chair. She stared out a window silently.

Alistair and the lady Cousland glanced at Morrigan, then each other. Alistair motioned to the door that led to the courtyard with his chin. "I...have to go," he said. His exhaustion was evident in his dead voice, so the Lady did not argue with him. She watched Alistair trudge outside, so much like an old, decrepit man.

Only Morrigan and Elissa remained. Elissa narrowed her eyes at Morrigan, stared at her for a long, long time, and ultimately approached the witch. "You are sure you know what you are doing, Morrigan?" the Grey Warden said. Her eyebrows knit. "This could go awry, you know."

"I know this," said Morrigan, her lips pressed fretfully together. "I know what I am doing."

"You trust far too much in your mother's grimoire, Morrigan."

Morrigan said dryly, "Yes. My mother knew much."

Elissa pursed her lips. "I suppose you would know best, Morrigan."

"Yes," Morrigan repeated in that same austere tone. She did not look up at Elissa, did not even indicate that she registered her existence.

Elissa stepped closer to the shape-shifter. She intoned, "All things come full circle." Morrigan finally raised her eyes to meet Elissa's steady gaze. Nodding, Elissa turned on her heel. As she made her way to and opened the door to the courtyard, she said over her shoulder; "I thank you for this, Morrigan – but this can come back to haunt you. I hope you know this."

Alone in the foyer, Morrigan licked her lower lip, and nodded to herself. "I _do_ know this. All too well."

-=-=-=-=-=-

"Mama?"

Morrigan glanced up from her musty tome, and her eyes softened a bit at the sight of her child. She rose from her chair, and approached her toddler. "Yes?"

"I got sumpin' for Mama." He held his arm out to Morrigan, and a bright dandelion flashed its sunny face at the shape-shifter. His disconcerting yellow eyes gleamed at his beloved Mama from under his wispy ginger eyebrows. "Flower's pretty...like Mama."

Morrigan knelt before her son, and smiled humorlessly at the weed clutched in his chubby fist. "Thank you, my precious one." She plucked the flower from her son's grasp, and tucked it behind her ear. Pleased that Mama liked his present, the little boy threw his arms around Morrigan's neck and hugged his Mama tight-tight-tight. She reciprocated in kind, and ruffled his corkscrew curls. After she gifted him with this rare display of affection, he giggled and skipped out the door to the tiny copse beyond their home.

Morrigan watched him go, and continued to stare after him, even when he was out of eyeshot and when she was truly alone in the tiny hut, she pulled the flower from behind her ear and beheld it ruefully. "Huh," she grunted to the dandelion. She glowered at it for a long time, before she threw it into the blazing fireplace with a snort of annoyance. "Full circle, indeed."


End file.
